CHAUNCEY  WETMORE  WELLS 

1872-1933 


• 


•r 

This  book  belonged  to  Chauncey  Wetmore  Wells.  He  taught  in 
Yale  College,  of  which  he  was  a  graduate,  from  1897  to  1901,  and 
from  1901  to  1933  at  this  University. 

Chauncey  Wells  was,  essentially,  a  scholar.  The  range  of  his  read 
ing  was  wide,  the  breadth  of  his  literary  sympathy  as  uncommon 
as  the  breadth  of  his  human  sympathy.  He  was  less  concerned 
with  the  collection  of  facts  than  with  meditation  upon  their  sig 
nificance.  His  distinctive  power  lay  in  his  ability  to  give  to  his 
students  a  subtle  perception  of  the  inner  implications  of  form, 
of  manners,  of  taste,  of  the  really  disciplined  and  discriminating 
mind.  And  this  perception  appeared  not  only  in  his  thinking  and 
teaching  but  also  in  all  his  relations  with  books  and  with  men. 


MARGINALIA 


MARGINALIA 
Jy    '  BY 

ARL^S  EDMUND  MERRILL, 
JUNIOR 


NEW   YORK 

PRIVATELY   PRINTED 

MCMII 


352S~ 


JNMEMORIAM 


Sixty-two  copies  of  this  book  were 
printed  in  February,  1902,  of 
which  two  copies  were  on  vellum, 
tfhis  is  Number •:.*.. ... 


863755 


to 

JRebete 

March,  1902 


CONTENTS 

MARGINALIA 

To  Tusitala,  13 

Ballade  of  Happiness,  14 

To  My  Books,  16 

Rondel,  17 

Cradle  Song,  18 

Tralimerei,  19 

Rubaiyat,  20 

On  a  Quiet  Life,  22 

A  Voice  in  the  Wilderness,  23 

Ballade  of  Hope  Deferred,  24 

Cynthia's  Bridal,  26 

COLLEGE  VERSE 

Dedication  of  Yale  Verse,  29 
Horace  in  New  Haven,  30 
Ballade  of  Cheese  and  Beer,  32 
With  Pipe  and  Book,  34 
ToH.  A.  B.,35 
Brave  Mother  Yale,  36 
Envoy  of  Yale  Verse,  37 

TRANSLATIONS 

Ad  Venerem,  41 

The  Epitaph  in  Form  of  a  Ballade,  42 

Ballade,  44 

Ballade  of  the  Midnight  Forest,  46 


MARGINALIA 


t'3] 

TO  TUSITALA 

Since  thou  hast  left  us  for  the  land  of  light 
And  the  clear  woodland  note  no  more  we  hear 

And  the  last  wonder-woven  tale  is  told. 
From  snow  to  flower,  from  flower  to  snow  the 

year 
Draws  on  for  us  less  cheerly  than  of  old 

When  thou  wert  in  our  sight. 
None  comes  to  claim  thy  laurels ;  who  but  thou 
Could  frame  to  words  the  long,  long  thoughts 

of  youth? 

What  now  in  all  our  dream  there  lives  of  truth 
How  may  we  know  ?    Thou  art  not  with  us  now. 

Yet  this  to  us  for  whom  thy  voice  is  still : 

Each  wonderful  clear  night  of  stars,  each  wind 
That  breathes  the  freshness  of  the  great  glad 

sea 

On  sullen  soul  and  narrow-circling  mind 
Is  still  a  voice  interpreted  of  thee 

And  with  thy  presence  filled ; 
That  ancient  song  thou  taught'st  us  first  to  hear 
The  woods  still  sing  to  us,  when  all  the  trees 
Wake  to  the  sudden  whisper  of  the  breeze — 
And,  if  we  listen,  we  may  know  thee  near. 


BALLADE  OF  HAPPINESS 

Ale  and  argument,  bread  and  cheese, 

Song  and  silence,  and  neither  best ; 
Pipes  and  poetry,  toil  and  ease, 

The  day  for  work  and  the  night  for  rest ; 

A  cheerful  sermon,  a  thoughtful  jest, 
A  friend  to  follow,  a  foe  to  fight, 

And  a  hopeful  heart  on  a  hopeless  quest : 
"these  are  the  springs  of  my  delight. 

April  rain  and  November  skies, 

Frost  of  autumn  and  thaw  of  spring; 
Bare  brown  fields  where  the  ground-larks  rise, 

Feathery  birches  where  robins  sing ; 

Daisies  to  buttercups  beckoning 
In  lanes  by  the  morning  breeze  blown  bright, 

And  the  joy  of  living  that  May  days  bring: 
these  are  the  springs  of  my  delight. 

A  white-capped  harbour,  a  sea-salt  gale 

And  the  thunder  clouds  scudding  across  the  sky, 
Or  the  breathless  calm,  and  the  flapping  sail 

And  the  lights  of  the  night  boat  slipping  by ; 

The  wind  in  the  trees  and  the  low  reply 
Of  ripples  that  break  where  the  shore  shows  white 

'Gainst  shadows  that  ancient  pines  raise  high : 
These  are  the  springs  of  my  delight. 


['5  3 

The  sweet  content  of  old  time  books  ; 

The  song  of  the  surf  in  the  strong  white  sun, 
And  the  little  laugh  of  hidden  brooks 

That  under  the  drooping  willows  run ; 

The  battles  lost  and  the  battles  won, 
Sunshine  at  morning  and  shade  at  night, 

The  finished  work  and  the  task  begun : 
are  the  springs  of  my  delight. 

Envoy 

These  are  pleasures,  you  say,  that  pall  ? 

You  (and  you  only)  shall  read  aright : 
These — and  one  other,  more  dear  than  all, 

These  are  the  springs  of  my  delight. 


TO  MY  BOOKS 

As  a  far  traveler  in  a  distant  land 

Glad  greets  the  home-word  of  his  native  soil, 

So,  weary  of  this  busy  world's  turmoil, 

The  strong  and  peaceful  words  of  this  strong  band 

Where,  clothed  in  lucid  thought  or  figure  grand, 

My  own  rude,  half-formed  thoughts  perchance  I 

find, 

Come  like  a  voice  from  some  long-vanished  mind, 
Distant,  but  for  the  moment  close  at  hand. 
In  the  stern  eddies  of  adversity, 
Or  when  with  fortune's  sunny  tide  I  sail, 
Here  is  a  never  failing  sympathy ; 
When  days  are  grey  and  other  pleasures  fail, 
I  talk  with  them  and  for  a  little  time 
They  lightly  bear  me  to  another  clime. 


['7] 

RONDEL 

Since  I  am  I,  and  you  are  you, 

So  must  I  love  thee,  wonder-eyes  ; 

The  wood-thrush  knows  not  why  it  flies 
When  falls  at  even-tide  the  dew 

From  the  deep  chalice  of  the  skies, 
Nor  know  I  why,  who  know  'tis  true, 
Since  I  am  I,  and  you  are  you, 

So  must  I  love  thee,  wonder-eyes. 

I  would  not  know,  for  ever  new, 

Nor  dimmed  by  knowledge  overwise, 
Love's  mystery  still  satisfies 

As  understanding  could  not  do 

Since  I  am  I,  and  you  are  you. 


CRADLE  SONG 

The  stars  are  in  the  silent  skies, 
The  moon's  asleep  behind  the  hill, 

The  daffodils  have  closed  their  eyes, 
And  all  the  tired  world  is  still. 

Returning  up  the  airy  mile 

Beyond  the  faintest,  farthest  star, 

Go,  dear,  and  stay  a  little  while 
Where  God  and  quiet  are. 

And  when  the  stars  at  morning  fade 
Into  the  portals  of  the  day, 

Bring  peace  to  us,  that  unafraid 
We  may  renew  the  upward  way, 

And,  with  a  message  brought  again 
From  fairer  fields  of  Paradise, 

Walk  gladly  thro'  a  world  of  men 
While  He  is  in  His  skies. 


E'9] 

TRAUMEREI 

The  baton  falls,  and  hesitant  and  low 
I  hear  the  well-remembered  song  begin, 
Rise  tremulously  sweet,  then  swiftly  win 
To  brave  andante  singing  clear,  then  slow 
Sink  to  a  solemn-paced  adagio  ; 
I  listen :  and  a  song  leaps  up  within 
My  heart  that  mocks  the  singing  violin, 
With  a  diviner  melody  aglow. 

The  quiet  hum  of  bees  is  in  my  ears, 
And  deep  in  daisies  by  your  side  I  lie 
Where  the  long  grasses  wave  their  whispering 

spears 

In  rhythmic  sway  to  the  low  song  you  sing: 
And  somewhere  from  the  silence  of  the  sky 
An  answering  note — and  in  my  heart  is  Spring. 


[20] 

RUBAIYAT 
I 

The  quiet  Land  of  Sleep  lies  far  away 
Beyond  the  misty  Portals  of  the  Day ; 

Not  all  the  silent  journey  fare  at  will, 
Tho'  none  the  drowsy  Porter  needs  must  pay. 

II 

There  rise  the  unfathomed  Springs  of  sweet  Sur 
prise, 
Where  What  we  Know  at  Naishapur  outvies 

In  wonder  the  Unknown  and  yet  is  here 
Discerned  thro'  all  the  strangeness  of  its  guise. 

Ill 

And  there,  transformed  by  alchemy  of  night, 
The  ever-baffling  puzzles  of  the  light, 

The  weary  tangles  in  the  Thread  of  Life, 
Lie  all  unravel'd  to  our  clearer  sight. 

IV 

But  what,  O  Saki,  if  this  land  of  Youth 
And  sweet  Delight  be  yet  the  land  of  Truth  ? 

Do  we  that  bear  the  burden  of  the  noon 
Bear  it  but  vainly,  striving  to  our  ruth  ? 


Yet  may  we  trust,  tho'  long  deferred  our  quest 
And  far  away  the  Islands  of  the  Blest, 

The  unfolded  roll  of  Fate  to  read  at  last, 
And,  trusting  this,  be  careless  of  the  rest. 

VI 

For  Love  that  guards  us  Here,  shall  guide  us 

There 
And  still  shall  guide  beyond  the  Portals,  where, 

When  the  great  Riddle  is  at  last  resolv'd, 
Shall  break  at  even's  close  a  Dawn  more  fair. 


[22] 

ON  A  QUIET  LIFE 

[From  Avenius\ 

Small  fields  are  mine,  and  small  the  rent  they  bring, 
Yet  therein  lies  no  taint  of  usury. 

Having  enough,  I'm  rich  as  Lydia's  king, 
Alike  from  worry  and  from  censure  free, 
From  sins  of  sloth  and  cares  of  polity ; 

So  wars  and  curule  chairs  aside  I  fling — 
Small  fields  are  mine. 

Free  from  ambition's  vain  anxiety. 
From  wealth  that  like  the  fleeting  clouds  takes 

wing, 

The  pomp  of  camp  and  court  I  do  not  sing ; 
That  this  is  sure,  enough  of  pride  for  me — 
Small  fields  are  mine. 


A  VOICE  IN  THE  WILDERNESS 

Now  God  be  with  us  ;  He  that  hath  denied  us 

Our  path  to  see,  as  thro*  this  world  we  go, 
Make  plain  the  hand  that  thro*  the  dark  shall 
guide  us : 

We  would  not  hope — but  know. 

Lord,  we  would  follow,  could  we  see  before  us 

Thy  standard  rise,  a  shining  cloud  by  day, 
By  night  a  fiery  pillar  flaming  o'er  us 

To  light  our  stumbling  way. 

Thou  that  of  old  did'st  lead  their  host  united 

That  followed  Thee  across  the  trackless  plain, 
So  lead  Thou  us,  till  we,  no  more  affrighted, 
Shall  feel  Thy  hand  again. 

Then  shall  we  know  that  Thou  wert  ever  near  us 

That  called  upon  the  God  we  did  not  see : 
Lord,  if  to-day  we  know  Thee  not,  yet  hear  us — 
We  know  our  need  of  Thee. 


BALLADE  OF  HOPE  DEFERRED 

[Ballade  a  double  refrain] 

With  the  old  wan  look  of  eagerness 

The  gargoyle,  on  Our  Lady's  fane, 
Grim  gazes  from  its  dark  recess 

Adown  the  turn  of  the  winding  lane ; 

Grim  gazes  thro'  the  wint'ry  rain 
That  lends  the  fields  a  faery  sheen, 

For  the  World's  Desire  to  come  again — 
The  World's  Desire  hath  no  man  seen. 

And  long  are  the  years  of  its  duress, 

And  slowly  the  seasons  wax  and  wane, 
Nor  ever  the  eager  glance  grows  less 

Adown  the  turn  of  the  winding  lane ; 

For,  whether  they  fall  on  the  standing  grain 
Or  the  white  snow  shrouding  spring's  faint  green, 

The  stony  eyes  their  watch  maintain — 
The  World's  Desire  hath  no  man  seen. 

For  silent  aye  and  motionless, 

Beside  the  veering  weather-vane 
It  gazes  in  calm  and  in  wild  storm's  stress 

Adown  the  turn  of  the  winding  lane^ 

Nor  recks  that  its  waiting  be  in  vain 
But  keeps  the  watch  with  steadfast  mien 

And  waits  the  day  the  gods  ordain — 
The  IV or  Id's  Desire  hath  no  man  seen. 


Envoy 

Princess,  our  waiting  brings  naught  of  gain, 
A  down  the  turn  of  the  winding  lane 
Long  tho'  we  keep  the  watch,  I  ween 
The  World's  Desire  hath  no  man  seen. 


[26] 

CYNTHIA'S  BRIDAL 

My  little  one,  the  day  is  done, 

The  maiden  moon  walks  in  the  sky, 

And  one  by  one,  and  one  by  one 
She  lights  the  lamps  on  high. 

She  mounts  her  silver  throne,  and  now 
The  clouds,  a  feigned  bridal  veil, 

She  draws  about  her  virgin  brow 
As  the  star-tapers  pale. 

For  Cynthia  waits  the  errant  sun 

That  lingers  far  away. 
My  little  one,  the  night  is  gone 

And  in  the  East  is  day. 

Now,  slim  and  virgin,  from  her  throne 

Reluctantly  she  goes, 
And  one  by  one,  and  one  by  one 

The  stars  are  dimmed  in  rose. 


COLLEGE  VERSE 


DEDICATION  OF  YALE  VERSE 

[To  my  Mother] 

These  idle  songs  of  yesterday 

Must  now  the  idle  hours  betray 
Of  that  brief  unforgotten  time 
Of  primroses  and  bells  a-chime, 

And  hopes  and  fears  too  sweet  to  stay. 

So  all  of  youth  our  roundelay  ; 
No  rapt  heroics  we  essay, 

Nor  to  the  clear  cold  heights  may  climb 
These  idle  songs. 

No  !  of  the  valleys  green  and  gay 
(Our  caps  and  gowns  a  merry  mime 
Of  caps  and  bells)  we  make  our  rhyme  ; 
Worthless  ?     Ah,  that's  for  you  to  say, 
For  whom  were  gathered  by  the  way 
These  idle  songs. 


[30] 

HORACE  IN  NEW  HAVEN 

I 
INTEGER   VIT^E 

The  man  that  promptly  settles  with  the  bursar 

Needs  not  a  pull  to  win  his  way  thro'  college, 
Nor  need  he  heed  $.  B.  K.'s  curse,  or 
Envy  her  knowledge. 

Whether  th'  inhospitable  Welch  receive  him 

Or  in  South  Middle  dark  his  path  and  rough  be, 
Still  shall  the  dean,with  gracious  smile,  believe  him, 
Whate'er  his  bluff  be. 

For  as  I  wandered  to  my  room  last  Monday, 

Singing  his  praise  who  had  my  bill  receipted, 
Fierce  Mr.  Hotchkiss,  who  had  cut  me  Sunday, 
Pleasantly  greeted. 

Throw  me  in  White,  in  Farnam  (which  is  worse),  or 

Far  in  the  halls  remote  of  Pierson  land  me, 
The  sweetly  singing,  sweetly  smiling  bursar 
Still  shall  command  me. 


II 
PERSICOS   GDI 

Boy,  I  detest  these  modern  innovations, 

The  Voice  crusade  may  alter  some  men's  habit, 
But,  as  for  me,  I'll  stick  to  my  old  rations, 
Ale  and  a  rarebit. 

In  vino  vis.    The  pious  dames  of  Ipswich, 

Knowing  its  worth  and  fearing  lest  men  waste  it, 
Condemn  its  use  in  christening  battleships,  which 
Can't  even  taste  it. 

Old  Cato  Major  (and,  no  doubt,  his  wife,  too), 

Found  in  Falernian,  mixed  with  milder  Massic, 
Courage  which  led  him  at  his  time  of  life,  to 
Read  the  Greek  classic. 

Yes,  Cato  drank,  nor  should  we  lightly  damn  a 

Man  who,  at  eighty  and  without  coercion, 
Mastered  Liddell  and  Scott, and  Hadley's  grammar, 
My  pet  aversion. 

Elihu's  ways,  they  say,  are  growing  sinful, 

Crimes  that  are  nameless  are  committed  daily. 
Oscar !  my  toby,  and  I'll  sin  a  skinful, 
So  to  bed  gaily. 


[32] 

BALLADE  OF  CHEESE  AND  BEER 

Of  Bacchus  still  the  poets  sing, 

Silenus  and  the  fruitful  vine, 
And  still  their  tuneful  numbers  ring 

With  praises  of  the  "  rosy  wine." 

Well,  let  them  sing  its  charms  divine 
And  sound  its  praises  far  and  near ; 

But  O  !  what  hours  were  thine  and  mine 
With  bread  and  cheese  and  lager  beer  ! 

Before  my  fire's  flame  the  swing 

And  dart  of  shadowy  design 
On  hearth  and  wall  would  dance  and  swing, 

Fantastic  shapes  to  intertwine 

In  forms  grotesque,  and  so  combine 
That  none  retained  its  outline  clear — 

And  we  before  the  blazing  pine 
With  bread  and  cheese  and  lager  beer  ! 

And  as  they  mingled,  so  the  sting 

Of  many  failures,  the  decline 
Of  hopeful  purposes  that  bring 

Fresh  courage  in  their  train,  benign 

Gambrinus  touched,  and  in  that  sign 
We  saw  again  our  pathway  clear, 

And  worshiped  long  at  Friendship's  shrine 
With  bread  and  cheese  and  lager  beer! 


[33] 

Envoy 

O  friend  !  whatever  joys  be  thine, 
Nor  wealth  nor  glory  can  outshine 
Those  days  when  Friendship  was  our  cheer 
With  bread  and  cheese  and  lager  beer  ! 


[34] 

WITH  PIPE  AND  BOOK 

With  pipe  and  book,  an  old  arm-chair, 
A  glowing  hearth,  what  need  I  care 

For  empty  honors,  wealth  or  fame  ? 

Grant  me  but  this ;  an  honest  name, 
A  cup  of  ale,  a  coat  to  wear. 
And  then,  while  smoke-wreaths  rift  the  air, 
The  banquet  of  the  gods  I  share, 

Content  to  sit  before  the  flame 
With  pipe  and  book. 

Above  the  city's  noisy  glare, 

Yet  sweet,  tho'  humble,  is  my  fare ; 

For  changing  not  from  praise  to  blame, 
These  faithful  friends  are  still  the  same — 
No  earthly  comforts  can  compare 
With  pipe  and  book. 


[35] 

TO  H.  A.  B. 

The  ways  of  Yale  are  changed,  I  trow, 
Since  you  lived  in  the  Old  Brick  Row  ; 
The  worn  old  fence  is  gone,  and  few 
The  faces  that  you  loved  and  knew, 
The  good  old  days  have  altered  so. 

Of  course  the  old  fence  had  to  go  ; 
"  tfhe  college  must  have  room  to  grow.11 
But  merry  yet  and  strong  and  true 
The  ways  of  Yale. 


mutatur  —  yes  !  but  tho' 
A  new  Yale  greets  each  winter's  snow 
We  still  are  loyal  to  the  blue  — 
You  to  the  old,  I  to  the  new, 
For  each  has  learned  to  love  and  know 
The  ways  of  Yale. 


[36] 

BRAVE  MOTHER  YALE 

Fairer  than  love  of  woman, 

Stronger  than  pride  of  gold, 
Stands,  nor  shall  fail,  love  for  old  Yale, 

Mother  of  love  untold. 

"  Mother  of  love  "  proudly  we  call  thee 
Singing  together  adown  the  long  line, 

Light  from  above  ever  befall  thee  ! 

Hear  thou  and  cheer  thou  the  hearts  that  are  thine. 

Far  down  the  march  of  ages, 

Near  to  the  goal  at  last, 
Brighter  the  haze  of  coming  days 

Than  all  the  storied  past. 

Brave  Mother  Tale,  wondrous  the  story 
JVrit  in  the  living  rock,  aye  to  endure. 

On  to  the  goal,  from  glory  to  glory, 

Sure  be  thy  tread,  and  our  loyalty  sure. 

Beacon  of  truth  uplifted, 

Set  in  the  Northern  Sea, 
While  yet  they  live,  thy  sons  shall  give 

Honour  and  love  to  thee. 

Star  of  our  hopes,  shine  on  forever  ! 

Nought  can  the  calm  of  thy  radiance  pale. 
Guarding  thee  still,  failing  thee  never, 

Still  shall  we  love  our  brave  mother,  old  Tale. 


[37] 

ENVOY  OF  "YALE  VERSE" 

[To  S.  R.  K.] 

The  golden  days  that  will  not  come  again  : 
Battell  rings  out  its  call,  yet  I  remain  ; 
Your  fire  is  whitening  fast,  as  on  the  sill 
I  knock  my  ashes  out  and  hear  the  chill, 
Unending  fall  of  the  New  Haven  rain 
Beat  noisily  against  your  window  pane. 
We  heed  it  not :  our  castles  are  in  Spain, 

And  dreams  of  conquest  worth  the  winning  fill 
The  golden  days. 

They  come  not  back  to  us ;  that  happy  train 
Of  dreams  has  vanished  with  their  dear  domain, 
Yet  have  they  left  their  benison,  for  still 
The  selfsame  sympathy  for  good  or  ill 
Is  ours  to-day,  although  we  seek  in  vain 
The  golden  days. 


TRANSLATIONS 


AD   VENEREM 

[Horace,  Book  III,  Ode 

Thy  soldier  once,  O  Love !  was  I, 
And  in  that  service  thought  to  die, 

For  not  without  success  I  warred, 

In  many  a  blissful  battle  scarred. 
But  now  I  lay  my  lyre  by 
Before  whose  soft  artillery 

Was  each  resisting  door  unbarred ; 

Thy  statue  shall  my  armour  guard, 
Thy  soldier  once. 

In  snowless  Memphis  set  on  high, 

O  Cypris  !  hearken  to  my  cry  : 
Let  thine  all-loving  heart  be  hard 
To  Chloe,  if  thou  dost  regard 

His  prayer,  who  was — ah  !  she  knows  why 
Thy  soldier  once. 


[42] 

THE  EPITAPH  IN  FORM  OF  A 
BALLADE 

\Which  Master  Frangois  Villon  made  for  himself 
and  five  of  his  companions,  expecting  to  be  hanged 
along  with  theml\ 

Nor  hate  nor  scorn  shall  be  our  meed  to-day, 

Stretched  black  against  the  faint  gray-golden  sky, 
Heedless  of  all  ungenerous  ye  may  say, 

Helpless  we  hang,  helpless  to  make  reply. 

Rather  in  love  and  sorrow  shall  ye  cry 
To  Him  that  hung  for  all  men  on  the  tree, 

And  crave,  ere  that  ye  also  come  to  die, 
God,  of  His  grace,  forgive  both  us  and  thee. 

Not  all  may  tread  the  road  of  right  alway, 

Not  all  the  primrose  path  of  pleasure  fly ; 
The  greater  need  then,  brother  man,  to  pray — 

The  greater  wrong  compassion  to  deny. 

Our  joys  are  spent ;  equal  we  all  hang  high  ; 
All  undeserving  raise  we  now  our  plea, 

Whose  dolorous  death  doth  justice  justify,— 
God,  of  His  grace,  forgive  both  us  and  thee. 

And  now  the  wind  shall  have  us  for  his  play, 
The  driving  rain  shall  blanch,  the  sun  shall  dry, 

The  while  in  swinging  chains  aloft  we  sway, 
Grim  warning  to  the  lowly  passerby  ; — 


[43] 

But  ye,  that  life  and  laughter  glorify 
Ye,  that  to-day  hold  love  and  lands  in  fee — 

Ye,  that  in  pride,  sorrow  and  death  defy — 
Gody  of  His  grace,  forgive  both  us  and  thee. 

Envoy 

Prince  Christ,  in  this  brief  hour  of  death  be  nigh  ! 
Thou  that  did'st  live  and  die  for  such  as  we — 
And  ye,  that  Him  again  do  crucify, — 

of  His  grace,  forgive  both  us  and  thee. 


[44] 

BALLADE 

[tfhat  Dillon  wrote  for  Ms  mother,  -when  that  she  was 
about  to  die,  wherewith  to  do  her  homage  to  Our 
Lady.'] 

O  Lady-Queen  of  sea  and  earth  and  air, 

Empress  of  all  the  darksome  swamps  of  Hell, 

Now  at  the  end  of  the  long  path  I  fare 
Receive  thine  humble  worshipper  to  dwell 
Within  the  gates  of  thine  own  citadel. 

Thou  art  so  great !  Sinful  and  weak  am  I ; 

Yet  shalt  thy  grace  my  poor  faith  justify, 
Grace  that  alone  all  sinners  ransometh 

Of  them  that  cry  to  thee.     Hear  thou  my  cry, 
For  this  shall  be  my  faith  in  life  and  death. 

To  thy  dear  Son  that  I  am  His  declare, 

Whose  birth  and  death  did  all  my  debt  dispel 

As  when  in  Egypt  Mary's  load  of  care 
He  turned  to  joy,  as  his  to  whom  befell 
Thine  absolution,  tho*  (for  so  men  tell) 

He  to  the  fiend  in  bondage  long  did  lie. 

So  cleanse  me  thou,  of  whose  virginity 

Was  born  our  Lord  whose  blood  delivereth 

From  sin,  nor  thy  poor  handmaid  now  deny, 
For  this  shall  be  my  prayer  in  life  and  death. 


[45] 

A  poor  old  simple  wife  am  I,  that  ne'er 
A  single  letter  of  them  all  know  well, 

Of  little  worth ;  yet,  at  the  Mass,  whene'er 
I  follow  at  the  call  of  Sabbath  bell, 
My  heart  with  hope  of  Heaven's  joy  doth 
swell — 

And  then  in  fear  I  think  that  Hell  is  nigh. 

Grant  thou  the  joy  to  me,  whose  soul  doth  sigh 
For  rest  and  peace,  who  with  my  parting  breath 

With  all  that  sin  on  thy  dear  love  rely, 
For  this  shall  be  my  faith  in  life  and  death. 

Envoy 

O  virgin  Princess,  bright  beyond  compare, 
Thou  didst  the  Christ  our  Lord  Eternal  bare. 
The  Prince  of  Paradise,  of  God  the  heir, 

Our  Father's  love  to  us  that  witnesseth, 
Grant  me  a  crown  of  life  with  Him  to  wear 
And  in  the  House  of  Heaven  to  have  a  share, 

For  this  shall  be  my  faith  in  life  and  death. 


[46] 

BALLADE  OF  THE  MIDNIGHT  FOREST 

[After  Theodore  de  Banvitle] 

The  woodland  nymphs,  the  mocking  fauns  still 
sing 

'Neath  thorn  and  holly  as  in  time  gone  by  ; 
Still  in  the  cool  west  wind  the  branches  swing, 

And  Dian,  wandering  free,  may  still  espy 

The  lean  wolves  startling  at  the  Huntress'  cry. 
The  shepherds'  cots,  men  say,  her  rite  still  know 
When  silver  stars  awaking  soft  and  slow 

Join  with  the  crescent  moon  their  paler  light 
To  glorify  the  silent  fields  below, 

And  Dian  threads  the  shadows  of  the  night. 

Cress-wreathed,  their  golden  heads  all  shimmering, 

In  mystic  measures  still  the  nixies  vie 
All-fain,  half-fearful  of  discovering 

Where  the  red  dwarf,  the  wild  red  dwarf,  doth 
lie, 

The  fairies'  foe,  the  dryad's  enemy, 
Half  in  delight  and  half  in  dread  ;  when  lo  ! 
The  Virgin  Goddess  comes  in  robe  of  snow, 

Smiles  sad,  and  as  she  sees  their  swift  affright, 
Breathes  one  swift  sigh  for  summers  long  ago, 

And  Dian  threads  the  shadows  of  the  night. 


[47] 

Her  sylvan  spoils  her  nymphs  attendant  bring  : 
The  shrilling  sob  of  startled  stags  that  fly, 

Blends  with  the  bay  of  ban-dogs  following. 
And  she,  exulting  in  her  archery, 
Steals  shining  shafts  from  out  the  star-lit  sky 

And  speeds  them  from  the  silver  of  her  bow. 

Loose  on  the  western  wind  her  long  locks  flow 
Unbound,  a  golden  aureole  blown  bright 

About  her  brow,  with  eagerness  aglow, 
And  Dion  threads  the  shadows  of  the  night. 

Envoy 

Prince,  leave  the  shame  and  splendour,  wealth  and 

woe 
The  gloom  and  glamour  of  the  town,  for  Oh  ! 

A  fairer  land  is  spread  for  our  delight, 
Where  forest-fern  and  fount  their  peace  bestow, 

And  Dian  threads  the  shadows  of  the  night. 


cfh's  book 

was  arranged  for  the  press 

by  W.  A.  Bradley 

New  Tork 

1902 

r 


U.C.BERKELEY  LIBRARIES 


863755 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  UBRARY 


